


Harry Potter's Bizarre Adventure: Prisoner of Azkaban

by aenor_llelo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe - Wizards, Alternate Universe- Eyes of Heaven (JoJo), Autistic Kujo Jotaro, Canon-Typical Violence, Dadtaro, Familiars, Families of Choice, Gen, Hamon is still a thing, Harry Potter Abandoned by Dursleys, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Third Year, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Minor Kakyoin Noriaki/Kujo Jotaro, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Purebloods (Harry Potter), Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Smart Harry Potter, Stands are Familiars, The Joestars are wizards, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), no beta we die like men, you can pry the eyes of heaven timeline from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-11-16 13:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aenor_llelo/pseuds/aenor_llelo
Summary: Harry Potter's third year sees two new staff members at Hogwarts.Professor. Lupin, Remus. Order of the Pheonix member, veteran to the first British wizarding war. Secret- werewolf.Professor. Kujo, Jotaro. Up and coming magizooligist hoping to study the Forbidden Forest. Member of Clan Joestar- internationally powerful pureblood family.Harry's life just got officially, irrevocably bizarre.





	1. By Your Leave

* * *

 

The preparations before a new school year always expects a veritable sea of owls in and out of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hundred of young anxious minds flurrying with last minute preparations, confirmations. Fretting parents and family, scrambling for assurances of security and validity. Owls from the school itself, heavy with admittance letters fresh off the Acceptance Quill, or school grades. Oversized, meandering scrolls weighing on harried Ministry owls, vying for advice that the sender will never heed.

 

A single crow, black feathers shining with elusive embers of red and gold, eyes Fawkes from atop a particularly antique book. It holds aloft one of its three feet in an imperious manner, awaiting a wizened hand to relieve it of its burden, a delicately folded ream of paper held bay by a complex seal.

A clustered circle of hawthorn, and in its center, a distinctively asymmetrical star. Over the top, a phrase read proudly- LUCK AND PLUCK. A crest not to be ignored, older even than the earliest ambitions of a fledgling Albus Dumbledore. A crest that hadn't graced his office for nearly twelve years.

 

A shame, to be sure. That clan's head was courteous and accommodating during the worst of times, but the fallout of war seemed to have broken the older man's trust in a way that had yet to repair itself. The last time the two crossed paths, Albus brushed against that mind to be met with an almost fatherly disappointment. But Jonathan always was more simple at heart, a steadfastness of principle that yielded to nothing, even for the greater good. Admirable, but at times... difficult to sway.

 

His fingers touch the seal, branch and star retreating into nothingness, sparking the small card to unfold neatly into its intended form. Short, to the point, so unlike Jonathan.

**\- * -**

_I, Jotaro Kujo, accept the established terms of employment for the teaching position, professor for Care of Magical Creatures. By your leave, I will arrive with the Hogwarts Express._

**-空条 承太郎-**

**\- * -**

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tripedal crow, also known as the golden or sun crow, is a creature in East Asian lore.
> 
> Jotaro is 23, Jolyne is 1. The Jojo timeline is still the same, just replace 'enemy Stand' with 'enemy wizard'.


	2. Blood Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hungry, beaten pup runs away.

* * *

 

_Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters._

 

_"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"_

_But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon._

_"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me." He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door._

  
_"I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."_

 

_...._

 

Those words, they rang in the hall like a spell of its own, striking every Dursley silent with shock, Marge's rubbery floundering the only sound remaining. Even that terrible dog Ripper stopped barking and biting, fearful of the sudden tension taut in the air. His ears rang with the anxiety now coloring his anger, his world fading to just this one space, the face of Vernon Dursley and Harry's wand pointed.

His uncle came back to life, bristling, but his words were quiet as it had never been in all his memory.

 

"Then go." Everyone jumped at the breaking of silence, even Vernon himself. The large man stirred bolder.

 

"Go. Never set foot in this house again." Petunia seemed to start at that, face stricken, but stopped herself, saying nothing. "And good riddance to you, freak."

 

....

 

_And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm._

 

....

 

Arabella Figg looks out at her window, towards Number 4 Privet Drive. The house, for a moment, rings with faint chimes, gentle golden dust floating up to the sky, dimming and disappearing forever. It leaves the place somehow worn, an indescribable color lost, never to return.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and your blood will protect you, until you no longer call that place home.


	3. The Worse Fix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was stranded, quite alone, in the dark Muggle world, with absolutely nowhere to go.

* * *

 

Several streets away from Privet Drive, a heavy suitcase drags across oppressively smooth gravel, rumbling and rattling in protest in time to the metal ticks of a sturdy owl's cage. The weighty party of case, cage, and child collapses against a low wall down in Magnolia Crescent. The bristling shiver emanating from him is no longer mere anger- the first stealthy creeps of exhaustion and cold are setting in.

 

The sensations only stoke his turmoil. Red, red, rage, rattling, migraine crashing in his brain, those damned quiet words and the indignant pallor on all their faces.

 

Was this how Vernon felt? Every twitch and word of his nephew's continued existence building irritated pressure, the rising urge to hit, maim, scream, anything that would make it all stop?

 

And Petunia. Every day seeing her sister's eyes gazing out at her. Forced to cater (and he knows it forced, how often did she throw that in his face, how unwanted he was) to this living monument of her greatest shame and secret, this amalgamation of everything she feared, hated, worked so hard to suppress.

 

Able to tell no one. Only natural, then, they take it out on the source.

And now, after twelve years, the Dursley family finally did what it always threatened to do- kick its dirty little secret out to the streets.

 

Harry James Potter, for the second time in his life, becomes an orphan.

 

Poor, homeless, criminal, surely to be expelled, arrested, outcast forever.

 

No more Diagon Alley. No more Fortescue's ice cream.

No more afternoon Quidditch, late evening celebrations in Gryffindor tower, Professor McGonagall's authoritative voice ushering them back to bed.

No more losing wizards chess to Ron as the subtle judgmental staccato of Hermione's quill adding an extra foot of parchment to her homework.

No more moving staircases, talking paintings, floating candles.

No more tea at Hagrid's. No more Fang. No more dinners at the Great Hall.

 

No more Hogwarts.

 

If anyone were to happen on that little scene, a scrawny, shaking, scuffled thing huddled all by itself, they would think it must be mere cold. But the truth of the matter would be this- that awful Privet Drive taught first and foremost that freaks must save their tears for silence.

 

....

 _He bent over his trunk again, but almost immediately stood up once more, his hand clenched on his wand. He had sensed rather than heard it: someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind him. Harry squinted at the black alleyway. If only it would move, then he'd know whether it was just a stray cat or- something else._  


_"Lumos," Harry muttered, and a light appeared at the end of his wand, almost dazzling him. He held it high over his head, and the pebble-dashed walls of Number Two suddenly sparkled; the garage door gleamed, and between them Harry saw, quite distinctly, the hulking outline of something very big, with wide, gleaming eyes._

 

_Harry stepped backward. His legs hit his trunk and he tripped. His wand flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter-_

_There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light -_

  
_With a yell, he rolled back onto the pavement, just in time. A second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt exactly where Harry had just been lying. They belonged, as Harry saw when he raised his head, to a triple-decker, violently purple bus, which had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus._

 

* * *

 


	4. R.J. and J.K.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...But all were full except for one compartment at the end of the train.

* * *

 

_Steam was billowing from the train- it had started to move. Harry ran to the compartment door and Ron threw it open and stood back to let him on. They leaned out of the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train turned a corner and blocked them from view._

  
  
_"I need to talk to you in private," Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed._  
  
_"Go away, Ginny," said Ron._  
  
_"Oh, that's nice," said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off._

  
  
_Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train._

 

....

 

The Hogwarts Express, more often than not, was reserved for student use only, discounting the ever beloved trolley witch. But in this compartment, there were two men, occupying both window seats and equally dead to the world.

 

The first, an ill, tired looking chap with greying brown hair, who somehow seemed as though he should have been young under his shabby, overdarned robes.

 

....

 

 _"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window._  
  
_"Professor R. J. Lupin. " whispered Hermione at once._  
  
_"How'd you know that?"_  
  
_"It's on his case," she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters._  
  
_"Wonder what he teaches?" said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin's pallid profile._  
  
_"That's obvious," whispered Hermione. "There's only one vacancy, isn't there? Defense Against the Dark Arts. "_

 

 

....

 

The second seemed in most every way a total contrast to the newly dubbed Lupin. Where the first wore patchjob British robes, this one wore well groomed, almost Muggle dress- a crisp, light purple vest over a black dress shirt, white pants, with only the embroidered foreign white cloak marking him as a wizard. Even the way they slept was different- Lupin seemed to achingly curl in on himself, while the foreign stranger, face hidden under the sideways tilt of a white militaristic flat cap of all things, bonelessly leaned catlike against the compartment wall. A three legged crow scrutinized Scabbers from atop a nameless, imposingly large messenger bag.

 

Ron moved his hand protectively over the pocket housing his pet rat. "Oh, come off it. Not you too."

 

The crow only gave small ruffle of its feathers, seamlessly shifting into a cottony white tit bird, small and fluffy, three legs small and sticklike. It blinks once with tiny sesame eyes before migrating to the stranger's shoulder, starkly contrasted by the pins embroidering the hat behind it.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kujo's crow has a little magic of its own- shifting into a Hokkaido tit (a good and round bird).  
> In the original draft he was wearing traditional Japanese clothes because wizards are Just Like That, but I realized that my image of wizard!Kujo wasn't lining up with what I was writing.


	5. Bad Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even sleeping professors have their uses.

* * *

_"But if we're with him," said Ron spiritedly to Hermione. "Black wouldn't dare- "_  
  
_"Oh, Ron, don't talk rubbish," snapped Hermione. "Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people in the middle of a crowded street, do you really think he's going to worry about attacking Harry just because we're there?"_  
  
_She was fumbling with the straps of Crookshanks's basket as she spoke._  
  
_"Don't let that thing out!" Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron's knees; the lump in Ron's pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away._  
  
_"Get out of it!"_  
  
_"Ron, don't!" said Hermione angrily._

....

 

But Ron never got to give his equally angry retort, drowning the compartment in what would surely be an ever devolving row. Crookshanks, propelled by the boy's rough handling, barreled straight on the chest of the sleeping stranger, forcing a startled cough. The little white bird flitted indignantly around its former perch on the man's shoulder before settling on the hat newly fallen on the compartment table.

Now properly visible, the man was even younger than the still unknown Professor Lupin. Strong jaw, large brows, and glacial eyes together formed a stony, yet not quite unfriendly face, contemplating Crookshanks bemusedly while running a calloused hand through black, loosely curling hair. In an oddly feminine touch, Harry could see ear piercings that matched the man's eyes.

 

Hermione, blushing and mortified, started, "I'm so sorry, Professor," before catching herself for the habit. "I mean, sir."

"Isn't he though?" Ron asked. "A professor, I mean. What else'd some random adult wizard be doin' on the Hogwarts Express?"

"But Defense Against the Dark Arts is the only empty position, and that's obviously going to be Lupin, Ron, we can't just assume-"

 

Harry, wise beyond his years, decided to scoot himself and Hedwig as far away from Hermione and Ron's newest row as possible, which coincidentally brought him closer to the mysterious possibly-professor.

 

"Hullo sir," he offered, reflexively pawing at his hair to cover the scar, "I'm Harry. Are you going to be our new teacher?"

A toneless, drawling, baritone answers him with a heavy accent. "I will be teaching your Creatures class. You may call me Professor Kujo." His eyes slide over to Hedwig, who took the moment to preen under the attention. "That is a... snow owl, yes?"

"That's Hedwig, sir, and they're actually called snowy owls."

"She's very beautiful."

 

....

 

_The Hogwarts Express moved steadily north and the scenery outside the window became wilder and darker while the clouds thickened overhead. People were chasing backwards and forwards past the door of their compartment. Crookshanks had now settled in an empty seat, his squashed face turned towards Ron, his yellow eyes on Ron's top pocket._

 

....

 

_Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, they heard footsteps outside in the corridor again, and their three least favorite people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle._

 

 _Draco Malfoy and Harry had been enemies ever since they had met on their very first journey to Hogwarts. Malfoy, who had a pale, pointed, sneering face, was in Slytherin house; he played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, the same position that Harry played on the Gryffindor team. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to exist to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and muscly; Crabbe was taller, with a pudding-bowl haircut and a very thick neck; Goyle had short, bristly hair and long, gorilla arms._  
  
_"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and the Weasel. "_  
  
_Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly._  
  
_"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy. "Did your mother die of shock?"_

 

....

 

Ron vaulted off his seat, smacking Crookshank's basket to the floor. Harry stood in turn, knowing the imminent need to hold his friend back.

 

Professor Kujo simply locked eyes with the Slytherin, radiating impassiveness. "Good noon, young Lucius. You've grown taller."

Harry almost couldn't believe it, the way that Malfoy's face grew even paler, stepping back. "Sir. I didn't see you. What are you doing here?"

"I am going to be your teacher. Go back to your box, young Lucius."

"Yes sir. Good day sir." Professor Kujo continues to level his gaze, and Malfoy's expression caves somewhat. "Good day, Potter. Weasley. Granger."

 

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle slink away from the compartment door. A predictably awkward silence blankets the students, wondering if the older man had any words to say. Ron rubs at his tense knuckles.

 

"I don't care how rich and scary he says his dad is, he makes one more crack at my mum, I'll take his sissy head and-"

"Ron, not now!" Hermione flicks her eyes meaningfully at both the professors, Lupin somehow still asleep through the total ruckus.

"What? Not like either of 'em cares." He gives another glance towards the younger professor, apparently completely fine to accept the awkward quiet for what it was, staring out the window with a rough-cut hand brushing through Crookshank's thick mane. "Wonder how he knows Malfoy, though. Poor git almost looked scared."

 

Hermione gives off her immediate dozens of theories, and Harry hardly hears a word of it, only feeling some sense of relief, laced with apprehension. People usually had  _something_ to say to The Boy Who Lived, even if only to glance reflexively at his scar. But Professor Kujo- only silence. 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in the distance) It's 'cause he don't read the news


	6. In Comparison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He might enjoy being here after all.
> 
> (Remus or Jotaro?)
> 
> Yes.

* * *

 

 

_Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water. . . ._

 

 _But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak._  
  
_And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings._  
  
_An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart. . ._  
  
_Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder. . ._  
  
_And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn't. . . a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him -_

....

 

Harry Potter stayed silent leaving the train, even as they waved to Hagrid's boat, and as rickety thestral-drawn carriages moved along, he determinedly avoided the watchful concern of his friends.

 

Remus Lupin watched from the next carriage, a firm hand on the arm of the slightly shell-shocked young man next to him. Harry's reaction was alarming, though he suspected that suffering of any kind befalling James' son would set off unreasonable alarm in him. A spiral of thought ran down, knowing exactly what would make a person so weak to dementors, leaving the two equally sad conclusions- that Harry must have suffered in his private upbringing, or that he remembers the terrible event that made said upbringing necessary. At least the old habit of hoarding packs of chocolate came handy tonight, even if the greedy wolf in his brain only parted with it grudgingly on behalf of needy pups. And now it insisted on keeping a tight eye on this fellow new professor.

 

Because when the Hogwarts Express lights came on again following the Dementors' departure, the suitcases were properly knocked to the floor, even though the stop had only jostled them slightly.

Because of the way the metal of the racks had bent and crumpled like dragged ribbons.

Because of the way the glass now distorted the rolling landscapes outside, and the murky figures on the train.

Because of the deep spiraling scores in the compartment, like the angry gouges of a bad Splinch.

Because haloed by the chaos, with shaking hands and glassy eyes, was one Professor Kujo.

 

....

 

The other teachers seem friendly enough. He'll have to meet them eventually, he's sure. And he does want to get along with them, really. Dumbledore, bright eyes peering over half-moon glasses, seemed to encourage it, going so far as to remove the burden of there being any secret to his condition. That's the crux of it- that no matter their kindness, the ghost of _poor werewolf Lupin_ would flash over his head like a Muggle fairy light. He thinks of Severus' hatefully narrowed eyes, and almost sets his mind on avoiding the staff room entirely, its familiar stone hearth glowing with inviting warmth even beyond the reach of the door. As he passes it, his footsteps are suddenly matched by another.

 

"Remus Lupin." He turns, and Kujo is there, a touch nearer than expected. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

"You were the man who helped me after what happened on the train. You and those kids."

"It was only the right thing to do. Don't thank me for that."

Kujo lowers his head at the response, and almost smiles. " _Yare yare_. Don't go around saying things like that. Someone might think you're a good person."

 

With a stiff wave, the white cloaked man disappears over the next corner. Remus gives his first unburdened smile in over a decade. He might enjoy the school year after all.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a canon fact that people with traumatic experiences have more severe reactions to dementors. Eyes of Heaven Jotaro, wizard AU or not, has a literal trenchcoat full of those. Dementors are native to Azkaban, so this would be wizard!kujo's first encounter. he wasn't ready. he really wasn't.


	7. Malfoy's Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other people benefit from your mistakes.

* * *

 

The third-year Care of Magical Creatures class met in a small, theatre-like classroom, desks curling around in a wide berth to an oversized blackboard. The natural animosity of the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses combined with the re-opened tensions of Ron and Hermione, brewing a familiarly oppressive atmosphere. Harry, temper already brittle from the previous night's embarrassments, did something unprecedented- sitting in the front, away from the middle row squabbling of his two friends. When the room was full enough to generate a sizable volume of chatter, there was suddenly a sharp slap, forcing everyone into silence.

 

Professor Kujo was suddenly in front of them, hand still splayed against the blackboard. Seemingly satisfied with the bewildered quiet, he leaned casually against his own desk, blankly observing the new occupants, as though they too were unknown creatures to be approached with caution. With the same impassive drawl he used on the train, he introduced the subject. They were to start with safer and British magical creatures first, and would not be allowed to participate in the practical lessons if they could not pass the lecture portions. He also took the time to grudgingly 'answer' questions about himself.

Jotaro Kujo was a Japanese magizoologist, wanting to study the creatures of the Forbidden Forest. He was not married (which made a good portion of the student body visibly and unreasonably happy), but he had a one-year-old daughter in America, and some family in Britain. After a few good minutes of being interrogated about Japanese wizarding school by Hermione, he seemed to tire of it, and quickly herded the class outside to a paddock near the treeline of the Forbidden Forest. There was Hagrid, a string of polecats slung around his moleskin overcoat, waving enthusiastically.

 

"Lo there, Kujo! Third year class, eh?"

 

The professor, to his credit, was completely unfazed by Hagrid's overbearing presence. "I was hoping we could start them off with a demonstration."

 

Hagrid's dark eyes lit up.

 

....

 

 _Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly, orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures._  
  
_"Gee up, there!" he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence._  
  
_"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. "Beau'iful, aren' they?"_  
  
_Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the Hippogriffs' gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black._

 

_"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, "if yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer. . . "_

 

....

 

Before anyone could admit being too afraid to do so, Professor Kujo smoothly hopped the threshold, beckoning the class to come right up to the fence. Assuredly approaching a bronze, shadowy faced hippogriff, he addresses the class, still turned toward the animal.

 

"Hippogriff is a very prideful creature. Will know when it is insulted, so do not make that mistake."

 

Meanwhile, Malfoy and his friends were mumbling among themselves, likely crafting a way to disrupt Hagrid and Kujo's lesson.

 

"Treat it with respect, and let it make the first move. Walk towards it, bow, and wait," he continued, doing the motions as he lists them. The animal scrutinizes him for a moment, then dips its head gracefully. "If it bows back, you can touch it. If it doesn't, back away."

 

The professor's seemingly quiet words carried through the clearing as he reverently stroked at bronze feathers in the afternoon sun. Many of the schoolgirls, and a few of the boys, were dumbstruck by the simple scene. Harry sees the light blush on Hermione's face.

_Oh no. It's Lockhart all over again._

 

"Right," cuts Hagrid, "who wants ter go first?"

 

Harry stepped forward.

 

....

 

_It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes._

 

....

 

"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

 

Hagrid's face went white, scrambling even harder to corral the hippogriffs properly.

 

"Not dying." Professor Kujo firmly, but gently, sets Malfoy in a seated position against the fence. He roughly tears the sleeve of the Slytherin's robe, wiping away the blood to reveal a decidedly less impressive looking cut, slathering it in some herb that closed the wound. Malfoy made to leave, but the professor kept him where he was.

 

Kujo's face is stony as ever, but his eyes are icy as the grip kept on the boy's shoulder. "What did we learn." Neville's timid hand rises, and the professor nods.

 

"We, um... animals aren't dumb, and, uh..." He falters, but continues at the professor's silent encouragement. "Always follow the instructions... uh, sir."

 

"Name and house."

 

"Neville Longbottom, Gryffindor."

 

The iciness retreats somewhat. "Five points to Gryffindor." He looks back to Malfoy, iciness in full force again. "Detention with me."

 

_Class dismissed._

 

....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featuring: Jotaro's subpar English and inability to put up with the Malfoy Bullshit


	8. Dogshead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When is a dog not a dog? When is a cat not a cat?
> 
> When it was never one in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im return -wheeze-

* * *

 

Minerva McGonagall is in her much preferred state, lounging by some warm hearth on a free day, satisfying idle academic curiosities through such texts as _Transfiguration Today_. Which, naturally, by what Trelawney would no doubt claim to be cosmic law, is the chosen time that Professor Kujo cuts the silence of her office.

 

"You are Animagus." Spoken as a statement without question, though if he were asking a question, there likely wouldnt be a difference in word or tone. She gathered that much from the first few conversations with him.

 

"I am." She leaves the sardonic _what of it_  hanging unspoken.

 

"I have some questions."

 

.....

 

In honesty, she had put little thought into the other open position this year. Kettleburn was a decent conversationalist, one fellow appreciator of the importance of both precaution and precision in magic. His retirement was a mild dissapointment, but no great shock. Dumbledore had mentioned considering promoting Hagrid to the position, and that was that. Far more thought was spent filing the 'cursed' DADA position, her and Dumbledore's eyes both sliding past Severus' yearly application (though she suspected, in her private musings, that the Headmaster's reasons were different than her own.)

 

And thus to her embarrassingly unnecessary surprise, there were two new teachers this year.

 

Seeing Remus again was equal parts uplifting and heartbreaking. To see the day that one of her own students would return to Hogwarts and teach was a treat indeed, even if he was as nervous as a young wizard leaving the Hogwarts Express for the last time. She supposed he had a right to it. Given the state of him, it was likely the first job he'd have after his graduation.

 

(Maybe sometime later, nearer the end of his first year, when he's settled and sure, she'll find the words to apologize to him for not doing more.)

 

Professor Kujo was- well. It was difficult to gauge the young man.

 

The students liked him well enough. Dumbledore had her observe one of his lessons- Kujo proved an concise, simple worded teacher who enjoyed the subject (and an excellent scientific illustrator at that). He was rather fair in his treatment, though _that_ was likely a virtue of having not been raised with any bias towards one house or the other.

Outside of class was a different matter.

 

Kujo, when not being directly addressed or discussing academics, had nothing to say. Even dragged into conversation, few topics could force anything more than idle non sequiturs and appropriate head gestures. More pointedly, she noticed how the young professor would, in the lounge, suddenly tilt his head and leave without a word, always some moments before Dumbledore would walk in.

 

..... 

 

Minerva sips at some fresh tea. "Who told you, anyway?"

Kujo bemusedly inspects a Ginger Newt. "First years are loud."

"Ah." A pause. "Have you done any reading on Animagi? We have some texts in the library."

A worn out book is wordlessly held out, already filled with bookmarks. Good. She might just get along with him after all.

 

.....

 

The question of the spells raises a coy eyebrow, and she can't help but be a little dissapointed that he isn't going to try it. A shame really. All proof pointed to a fine Animagus. Something large and strong- a tiger, or some imposing lion maned mastiff.

 

His brows furrow irritably through the discussion of Animagus laws. Everyone agrees, Minister. Even the Japanese wizard thinks your lawmaking is terrible. Unlike in Dumbledore's office, she is free to laugh despairingly at political incompetence.

 

It helps that Kujo is familiar with the concept, at least- even if, in his experience, if someone turns into an animal, it was usually because they _were_  one, in some way or other.

 

Overall, an engaging conversation. But it was odd, how hyperfocused he was in one particular question.

 

The seperations from Animagus to animal.

How to identify Animagi, in either form.

 

.....

 

It is dawn. Kujo Jotaro looks out at the Whomping Willow, and the black dog slinking by it.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Joestar manor is famous for its sithe hounds. :)


	9. Draco's Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name Malfoy is a detention unto itself.

* * *

 

Draco Lucius Malfoy was  _not_  scared of detention with Professor Kujo. It was unbecoming of a Malfoy to be scared and such base emotions were to be left to lesser persons. Therefore, Malfoy was not scared. Merely... cautious. Apprehensive?

He nodded to himself. Yes, apprehensive. And annoyed, he recalled with a pout, that this _meaningless_  detention overtook the place of his favorite class, right after his three day break to 'recover from such a frightening event'. As if. It hurt, surely, but it was a graze. To be affected over something so trivial was unbecoming of a Malfoy, and therefore it did not hurt and the gleaming bloody talons of Hagrid's favorite hippogriff did not frighten him. A shame, really. He was so looking forward to teasing Potter's unawareness of wizarding events with the latest exclusives from Father. But it was not to be, and the door to Professor Kujo's office was finally in front of him. His hand hovered over the doorknob.

 

For a brief moment, he entertained the notion of simply going to Potions anyway. After all, wasn't his _precious and limited moment in academia_  more important than entertaining some stone faced foreign wizard? But he knew the answer already. Professor had explicity mentioned pulling him directly out of class and upgrading detention to _field work in the Forbidden Forest_  if he didn't show up on his own. He knocks on the door.

 

For a moment, Draco thought that it was a house elf opening the door. But it's hair was too long and black, skin too nut-brown and freckled, ears too round to be a house elf. And it wore clothes as well, muggle farm ones at that.

 

"Is you Malfoy?" Too stunned to speak, he settles for nodding mutely. "I is Anne. Is fetching sir now. Young sir should sit and wait."

 

Draco is hand-led to a seat, red faced at the indignity of being _touched_  by a servant. "What are you?"

 

"Anne is brownie, young sir. Did you think it was a house elf?" She briskly walks to an imposing, hard bodied messenger bag and meaningfully touches one of its pins. The case flips open, and Draco can see an unfolding ladder. 

 

"Anne is leaving. Sir is here shortly. Anne will know if you leave." She snaps her fingers, dissapearing.

 

Draco's eyes wander about the office. Professor's white cloak is slung carefully over the opposing chair, while hand drawings of sea-beasts move gracefully across their pages. Various samples are put in jars or mounted on the wall, and a leaning drawing board has an unfinished, many layered sketch of a bowtruckle. He remembers Dumbledore's introduction- the professor must have already started his research.

 

Some selection of foreign wizarding newsletters sit on the desk, _The Daily Prophet_  noticably absent. Two framed photos sit on the desk.

 

One had a slightly younger Professor Kujo, standing closely next to someone his age, a dog, and three other men. All of them had the look of born wizards, even the dog giving off the kind of uncanny intelligence wizard's animals did. They didn't move as much as people in normal wizard portraits- even relaxed, they stood at attention. It reminded Draco of when Aurors were in group pictures.

 

The second was mostly of some distant beach, with pinkish sands and turquoise waves. A very young toddler wandered the shore line, inspecting shells. Streaked hair would fall over green eyes.

 

Draco looks back to the case. Professor's head is already peeking out, looking unimpressed as always. After a short moment, he retreats back into the case.

The student looks down. The professor is there, leaning on the wall next to the ladder.

 

"Well? Get down here."

 

.....

 

Detention with Professor Kujo turns out synonymous with 'let's climb into this suitcase that's bigger on the inside and feed some animals in total silence'. Most of them looked to be some manner of water creature, seperated neatly into sprawling habitats divided like a rice field. Curling blue fires flicker in and out of existence like twinkling stars, and some distinctly dragon like shape flickers above the surface of the water while they feed some handsome, armor-scaled fish with fearsome tiger's faces.

 

There's even a pause for food. Anne returns with a box of fish shaped pasties filled with some manner of sweet and tender meat. A three-legged crow skips in between them for crumbs. Four pasties have been set aside on some seperate plate and every time Draco looks back at it there's a small bite taken out of one. 

It was... relaxing, dare he say enjoyable, in a way that none of his usual passtimes never quite could be, free of the decorum and expectation that followed him every moment he was with any of his 'friends' or family.

 

(Even if labor and street food was beneath a Malfoy- Father must never find out.)

 

Then it got ruined.

 

Professor had looked over with the already infamous unsettling not-frown and asked him  _why_.

 

Why come in late.

Why decide not to listen.

Why disrupt a lesson.

Why disrupt a dangerous lesson, putting himself and the other students at risk.

Why threaten other students with his status so that they would fear him (hate him).

 

_Why indeed._

 

Draco Malfoy had never before been asked something so simple as why. A Malfoy was not to be questioned. A Malfoy was not meant _to_  question. Because the name Malfoy was supposed to be the only answer ever needed.

 

For the first time in his life, Malfoy wasn't enough.

 

Father must never find out.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Star Platinum. He was there you guys, im swear


	10. Severus Sneaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus Snape isn't fond of the new professors. Naturally, he's tasked with spying on one of them.

* * *

 

Severus Snape sits silent, which isn't a very difficult task. Professorship has not made him any more inclined to conversation, even concerning his own field. In most cases, it doesn't matter how little or much he speaks- other teachers will talk over eachother, and largely miss whatever miniscule void he may have created with the refusal to contribute to their sea of blather. In this case, however, it is not a silence of ease, but that of tension.

 

Dumbledore sits across from him alertly. Bright eyes peering over half-moon glasses, eyebrows raised in expectation. Some golden instrument rings with motion out of the corner of both their eyes.

 

The old wizard had tasked him for an illicit favor _again_. To gauge their new hires. Or rather, hire. One Professor Kujo.

 

Severus had almost been relieved to hear that the bumbling half-breed hadn't been promoted after all. A school can only handle so many _tactical maneuvers_. And Kujo himself was no unknown name- he remembers quite clearly a most concisely worded thesis concerning pearls as potion ingredients in one of the many newsletters Dumbledore forced him to stay updated on. A rising Scamander for the East, some had praised.

 

But Kujo was also a Joestar. He remembers the Joestars quite well enough from the trial. _His_   _own_  trial. Albus Dumbledore had defended Severus Snape the Death Eater, and it had cost him his wealthiest and most powerful ally.

 

And now, just over a decade later, a Joestar sets root in Hogwarts. A Joestar quite determined to avoid his employer.

 

Between the two of them, Dumbledore was no doubt the more powerful Legilimens. It would, in theory, be simple to just look into the new professor's mind and be done with it. But the headmaster was being almost uncharacteristically cautious, and not without reason. Dumbledore would not be able to fall back on his own reputation or trustworthiness if Kujo, a total outsider, saw neither in him. Nor could he curry favor when the young man was nearly antisocial and avoidant as Severus himself. The consequences of failure would be too high.

 

Therefore, naturally, Severus must brave the risks instead. Any unsavory action on Severus' part would be 'characteristic' of him, and less likely to reflect on the headmaster. All the world could burn, but Albus Dumbledore would stay untarnished.

 

Not that it _would_  fall apart. If Severus Snape was good enough to escape being read by Voldemort, he would be good enough to read some young, barely adult animal lover.

 

But like many plans, it didn't last a moment off the parchment.

 

He picked a simple, unsuspicious moment at breakfast, wordlessly taking seat next to the young Professor, who was currently giving stoically worded debate with _Hagrid_ _and_ _Lupin_  over the subtle regional differences between different types of merfolk. Just a casual glance and prod. Probably more useless animal chatter, if this was the company the man shared words with.

 

Except there wasn't. In fact, there weren't even _words_  at all.  

 

Kujo's thoughts are distorted, shifting, echoing as though drowned in water. Or perhaps drowned in subtle pins and needles, generating an oncoming migraine. And even though Kujo's head stays turned away, something in his form _bleeds_.

 

For an imperceptible moment, a clawed, ghostly shape looms unseen by anyone else, dark wild mane unburdened by gravity as it slowly turns to look at Severus. Ringed glacial eyes sear him with the white-hot scream of static.

 

He leaves to open class early.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to old readers- I changed Jotaro's description from chapter 4.


	11. The Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bias revealed.

* * *

 

_But Harry didn’t go back to the common room; he climbed a staircase, thinking vaguely of visiting the Owlery to see Hedwig, and was walking along another corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, “Harry?”_

  
_Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door._

  
_“What are you doing?” said Lupin, though in a very different voice from Filch. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”_

  
_“Hogsmeade,” said Harry, in a would-be casual voice._

  
_“Ah,” said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson.”_

 

.....

 

A grindylow, as it turned out, was a sickly green water demon with sharp little horns and strong, boney fingers. Harry watched with morbid fascination as it snarled and snapped ineffectually against the murky watered glass.

 

"Go for the fingers."

 

Harry started at Professor Kujo's voice, who turned out to be standing slightly nearer than a normal stranger should, leaned down slightly with eyes fixed on the grindylow. Lupin takes the slight interruption in stride.

 

"Mr. Kujo here's the one that caught it. Wrangled it with his bare hands." Shabby robes shake with laughter. "It was, ha- quite the sight."

 

Looking at the younger professor again, he can see traces of watery sheen on a currently hatless head, and harshly rolled up sleeves. In the space between the professor's elbow and shirt, Harry can see swirling, river like markings of purple and blue- wondering, briefly, if there was such a thing as wizard tattoos.

 

.....

 

Remus made tea, and the three of them discussed the boggart lesson. Well, Harry and Remus discussed the boggart while Kujo dissociated in the general direction of the small journal he was holding.

 

Remus knows he didn't imagine the confused relief on Harry's face when he cleared up the issue with the boggart. The way that the boy so quickly assumed that people would think him weak and burdensome... what kind of life did Harry lead? Surely no wizard's family would ever raise The Boy Who Lived with such poor self-esteem.

Unless...

 

No. Dumbledore _couldn't_  have.

 

The thought naws at him through Snape's little visit, who somehow seemed _cowed_  by Kujo's presence and left quickly. A slight smile escapes him when Harry leaves. The boy's suspicion on his behalf was obvious, but no less endearing.

 

His stone faced colleague suddenly comes to life again. "You favor him."

 

"I'm sorry?"

 

"The kid. Potter, yes?"

 

"Oh! Well, James and I were friends all through Hogwarts." He only gets an uncomprehending look at the name drop. "James Potter. His father."

 

"Hm." Kujo flips a journal page. "Could have said that from the start."

 

The way the man said it was borderline offendingly flippant. As if it needed to be explained! Everyone knew the Potters-

 

Oh. The man was a foreigner. Sure, the Harry Potter name was world famous, but outside of Britain it wouldn't be mentioned much except on the inside of a textbook, or history enthusiast circles.

 

"Do you... _know_  who the Potters are?"

 

Kujo pauses with silent consideration. "I think my grandfathers mentioned a Potter family. Friends from the war. Why?"

 

Goodness. "Well it starts with Voldemort. Do you at least know who Voldemort is?"

 

.....

 

"If you were such good friends with Potter, why aren't _you_  the one raising his kid?"

 

"Sirius was suppossed to, but..."

 

"That's not an answer."

 

"Then here's one- I'm a werewolf."

 

"Still not an answer."

 

"In the eyes of the law it is. Well, not technically, but no court would let a 'half-breed' walk out with an intact wizard child."

 

"That's stupid." Kujo levels his gaze like he wants the words to sink in. "That's stupid and shouldn't matter. British law is a fucking backwards mess. Seems to me like you would have done better than whoever he's staying with right now."

 

The flat, matter-of-fact way the younger man says it is... comforting. As though 'werewolf' was hardly worth a footnote in the summary of Remus John Lupin.

 

(If only Dumbledore had thought the same.)

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In wizarding America, goblins, house elves, and giants are seen along side wizards with no fuss. In Beaubaxtons, a part-veela is among the students. Meanwhile in Britain, it was a fight to let a werewolf child go to school and someone being half-giant is a big scandal. Wizard Britain seems... behind the rest of wizardkind, socially and legally.
> 
> I imagine that kind of stuff would be even less of big deal in Asian countries such as China, Korea, and Japan, where certain ethnic groups/clans were commonly thought to have inhuman ancestry, magical creatures could commonly assume human form, and an emperor's claim to the throne would often be strengthened by alleging that they were once/will be/are dragons.
> 
> So wizard!jotaro would look at the breed discrimination in Britain and think 'what kind of bullshit is this'.


	12. News, Clip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wake up alone, like broken cuts of film.

* * *

 

_Harry looked wildly around. Cedric Diggory was pelting up the field, and a tiny speck of gold was shimmering in the rain-filled air between them..._

  
_With a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward the Snitch. “Come on!” he growled at his Nimbus as the rain whipped his face. “Faster!”_

  
_But something odd was happening. An eerie silence was falling across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was forgetting to roar. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Harry had gone suddenly deaf — what was going on?_

  
_And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below..._

  
_Before he’d had time to think, Harry had taken his eyes off the Snitch and looked down._

 

.....

 

Harry had, as far as he knew, woken up alone in the Hospital Wing, and somehow found the Great Hall in time for dinner in a forgetful haze. It wasn't until he sat down that he became aware of the small crowd around him- Ron, Hermine, and the entire Quidditch team sans Oliver, still in mud spattered sports robes like him. The rest of the Gryffindor table had edged away, looking at him the way first years did after seeing the Bloody Baron the first time.

 

Fred and George, oddly sober under all the mud and grime- gave him the quick rundown.

 

A hundred Dementors.

 

Fifty feet.

 

Diggory catches the Snitch.

 

...

 

People had thought he'd died.

 

With assurances that Gryffindor could still win, and that Harry was 'the best damn Seeker the House had ever had', the team leaves, tracking a weak mud trail out of the Hall. Ron and Hermione scoot closer.

 

 _Hold on._ "How the hell _did_  I survive that, anyway?"

 

Ron's tone was awed and excited, the way it was when he relayed the play-by-play of a Quidditch match. "Professor Kujo. Right moment you dropped, he dived after you from out of the professor's box. Caught you in the air, he did. Barreled right into the heart of the Dementors with a big prismatic bang."

 

Hermione looked to him nervously. "You know how when Muggle movies get damaged, they sort of stutter?" Harry nodded. When Petunia's new CD did that, he wasn't allowed to eat more than stolen cupboard scraps for a week.

 

"Well... it was like he _clipped_  through them, and the Dementors, they all got blown out of the way. I- I've never even _heard_ of magic like that before." Usually excited or frustrated at the prospect of new magic, she looked rather disturbed, even horrified at whatever display had occured.

 

"And after that, he just slung you like a sack and ran off. Not a word out of him. Holed the two of you up in the hospital wing, didn't let nobody in 'cept some Percy looking fellow. Specialist, I think." After saying that, though, Ron started a little to himself. "What'd they need the specialist _for_ , anyhow?"

 

 _Someone like Percy..._  now that Harry thought about it, there was a hazy memory there, a notion of another presence in the Hospital Wing. Coppery hair, wire-frame glasses, and green streaks of light. _Huh._

As he looked back out at the Hall, he immediately wished he hadn't. It wasn't just Gryffindor treating him like a new ghost- the other houses and years were determinedly doing the not-glance of people desperately trying _not_  to look at something, and Harry could have almost sworn he saw Malfoy of all people among the faces that regarded him with horrified relief. And yet...

 

_And yet._

 

Harry looks to the Professor's table. Professor Lupin looked a little more sickly than usual. Hagrid was nervous and clearly trying(failing) to drink it away. McGonagall seemed more stern then ever.

 

Dumbledore's expression was rather neutral at the moment, a far cry from the norm of his generally serene expression. Oddly... cold. Contemplative. As though recent events had turned into a particularly difficult Sunday crossword he had yet to solve.

 

Professor Kujo's seat stayed empty all evening.

 

* * *

 


	13. End of Term Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives a letter, and a pretty stranger stirs a scandal.

* * *

 

_A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked._

  
_Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic._

  
_In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on the top of Harry’s head and forced him off his stool and under the table. Dripping with butterbeer and crouching out of sight, Harry clutched his empty tankard and watched the teachers’ and Fudge’s feet move toward the bar, pause, then turn and walk right toward him._

 

.....

 

The shape of a man suddenly stood between the trio and their view of the professors.

 

"Excuse me, children, is this table full?"

 

Hermione tried, or rather failed, to dissuade the heavily accented stranger. "Well, not _really-_ "

 

But the strange wizard's face was already slack with relief, slinking into the space next to Harry.

 

"Thank goodness! Any longer and we would have had to go to... Hogshead was it? I couldn't possibly." Then he paused, as though to remember something. "I'm being rude, aren't I? I'm Kakyoin- Tenmei Kakyoin."

 

Mr. Tenmei Kakyoin was a young svelte fellow- he had a fox-like face framed by waving coppery hair, which had mostly been tied back save for a stray portion running down alongside it. Thin horizontal scars raked the both of his almost gold-tinged eyes, offset by wire-frame glasses. Like Professor Kujo, he could have passed for a very well dressed Muggle- the sleek black coat was well complimented by a crisp green dress shirt and a draping white scarf, while delicate red earrings dangled shamelessly.

 

Harry decided not to comment on the cane that Mr. Kakyoin had obviously been leaning on a few moments prior. Ron certainly looked like he wanted to- such a young man didn't seem the type to need it. 

 

Not that Ron would get the chance. Kakyoin's face had lit up, wordlessly beckoning someone over with his cane. Ron followed his line of sight and unsubtly tried to stuff Harry's head down from across the table, but it was too late. The 'someone' in question was none other than Professor Kujo, who slung his arm behind Kakyoin and had now, purposefully or not, lounged in such a way that kept Harry from hiding or escaping.

 

Harry also noticed, however, that the combined taller frames of the two grown wizards also completely blocked him from the eyes of the professor's table.

 

And additionally, Mr. Kakyoin looked very _familiar_ , somehow. Coppery hair, wire-frame glasses...

 

Wasn't he-

 

"You're that specialist healer!" Ron blurted. "From when the Dementors attacked the stadium!"

 

If Mr. Kakyoin was at all annoyed at the outburst, he didn't show it, simply politely inclining his head. "Dreadful work, that. Over a hundred children with exposure damage, I couldn't so much as _think_  of chocolate for a month without feeling sick. Thankfully it was all quick work aside from you two." He patted at the professor's arm fondly. "Jotaro took the brunt of it for you, though. I'd hex him if I could, but what are teachers for, if not to protect their students?"

 

After the incident, Professor Kujo had gone right back to teaching, but there had been a perpetual air of bone-deep exhaustion about him ever since, a slight slowness to his words. Even now, he had yet to speak a word to them, sedately breaking up a chocolate and gazing out into the middle distance.

 

This man had dived into a hundred Dementors for him. Whatever selfish embarrassment Harry felt- whether for his weakness to Dementors or his need to be rescued- died in shame right there.

 

Mr. Kakyoin broke the self-imposed sober air that had settled in the conversation with a thin, wide smile.

 

"Enough of that anyway! We can finish our drinks and maybe you kids can help us silly foreigners out with some Christmas shopping, hm?"

 

.....

 

And shopping they did, quite a lot of it. Professor Kujo was slow and methodical as usual, asking about the particulars of each candy to a patiently pleased Hermione, while Mr. Kakyoin joined Ron in flitting about with wild abandon like, well, a kid in a candy store. There was one ominous bag in particular being reserved for every bug looking candy they found.

 

As they neared the crowded school gates, Harry starts to worry about what excuse he could possibly use to break off and take the secret entrance back, but he doesn't need to. Mr. Kakyoin flashes a wink at Harry, pressing a piece of parchment into the student's hand, before quickly facing the professor to pull his thin mouth into a childish pout.

 

"Oh dear. You're hat's gone crooked. Let me fix it."

 

"Wh-"

 

And the whole school would be buzzing with the story, all through break and right after, the pretty stranger who had grabbed Professor Kujo by the collar of his robes and kissed him in front of all the students at the Hogwarts gates, apparating away with a laugh and a smile. The sight of the  _very_  dazed and slightly rosy Magical Creatures professor left behind proved such a spectacle that no one noticed any Harry Potter at all.

 

Just another third year, running back to the castle with a letter in his hand. It is stamped with the seal of an asymmetrical star, nested in hawthorn.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kakyoin is Chaotic Bastard
> 
> Edited Kak's eye color- turns out the Manga!kakyoin has goldish eyes and I am Here For It


	14. Be Our Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The head of house Potter receives an invitation.

* * *

 

_Harry,_

 

_Our apologies for the slightly underhanded method that this letter has reached you, and the deepest apologies on our behalf that we have not contacted you earlier. The Headmaster, since your birth, has seen fit to suspend and monitor any outside 'influences' to you. It is only now, when we have foothold in the castle, that we can properly open communications._

 

~~_Are you being treated well? Are you safe? I'm worried about the lingering effects of_ ~~

 

_The Potters have been old friends and business partners of ours for over a century. James and Lily were like family. Whether or not you felt it, our absence in your life is inexcusable._

~~_We should never have trusted you to Dumbledore._ ~~

 

_Our house is and always will be open to you._

_Please allow us this chance to be part of your family._

 

_Our only condition is your discretion- you are being watched._

 

 

_Awaiting your answer,_

 

_The Clan Joestar_

 

* * *

 

**-*-**

The Clan Joestar,

Most Ancient and Noble Wizarding House,

 

extends its' invitation to the head of

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter,

 

such that for the duration of his winter holiday,

he shall have residence in

Joestar Manor,

 

and all of its privileges implied.

 

LUCK : AND : PLUCK

**-*-**

 

* * *

 ****


	15. And The Dogs Begin To Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A manor shrouded in smoke, and the gleaming eyes of hounds whose footsteps soon follow.

* * *

 

"Young sir?"

 

There was a tinny voice nudging him from his half-hearted sleep in the Gryffindor common room. Harry squinted into the darkness.

 

"Is it time already?"

 

The silhouette of a child's newsboy cap nodded slightly. "We goes to the gates now. I is packed your things already. Come quick!"

 

Thus, one Harry James Potter is standing at the Hogwarts gates at near precisely midnight next to his trunk and the ever enthusiastic Professor Kujo. Did he still need to be called professor, now that the break was beginning? Harry hoped not.

 

At least the professor seemed as tired as Harry felt, even if the man was still frustratingly immaculate. And had yet to tell Harry what, exactly, they were standing in the dark for, simply teething at what might have been a cigarette if not for the delicately carved dragon's head, lighting it with a sharp click of wandless magic.

 

"Professor?"

 

"Mm." 

 

"Why are we standing here?"

 

"Gotta wait."

 

"For what? We're outside the wards now, can't we just apparate?"

 

"Don't want to be tracked." Suddenly, the man's pale eyes caught something in the distance, his arm pulling Harry back from the road he'd wandered into. "Get clear."

 

"For what, there's nothing on the-"

 

But there was a great sweeping crack of air, and in the place of empty night, a black coach carriage stood, barely illuminated by the Hogwarts gate lanterns. At its rein were the glittering coats of dark horses, hooves sparking life into their flaming eyes and sharp, long teeth.

 

Professor Kujo looked toward the back of the coach and frowned.

 

"You just couldn't wait, huh, grandpa?"

 

The 'grandpa' in question was a towering, bearish dog with wooly dark hair, a venerable mane curling its strong face into a pleasantly friendly shape. It's muzzle was beginning to gray, and there was a small, scar-like patch just above its left shoulder, shaped like a star. 

 

"I expected this kind of stunt from Joseph, not you. You said you were going to wait at by the gate."

 

'Grandpa', for his part, looked unrepentant, thumping its tail against its perch on the rear outer seat of the coach. Bright eyes regarded Harry in an almost paternal way, exuding the wholesome fondness produced by old souls, their edge worn away by time. The professor slumps at the exchange, pulling his hat more firmly down on his head.

 

" _Yare yare_. Fine. I can't order you around anyway. Come on, Potter."

 

The dog brightens, shaking the coach with its weighty leap, joining the horses at the front. Harry and the professor climb into a plush red interior, paradoxically large as wizard's things often are. Harry has barely a moment to sit before the coach lurches forth, Hogwarts Castle fading away with the power of fiery gallops.

 

As for the dog, its massive body leisurely keeps pace with the coach, ambling in view of the windows.

 

Professor Kujo answers Harry's silent question unprompted.

 

"In order to enter the Manor, you need something that belongs to it's family. Anne or I could have done it, but I guess the family didn't want to risk you tripping the wards."

 

The professor tips a hand out one of the windows, the smoking head of the dragon trailing misty clouds behind them.

 

Harry squints at the 'smoke'. "Normal smoke doesn't look like that."

 

"Chargewater. Destroys magic traces."

 

"Huh."

 

The landscape continues to blur.

 

The ride is steady, silent, and very late, and still Harry cannot bring himself to sleep the way that Kujo quickly does.

 

After an hour or so, the coach suddenly veers into a forest, going at a far more sedate pace as trees lean out of the way, parting like a narrow tunnel.

 

The dog's footsteps are joined by another.

 

Then another.

 

And another.

 

Harry cannot see into the night, but he can make out the shapes. At least ten man-sized hounds, bright eyes gleaming, are surrounding the carriage, leading it through vine-drowned iron gates, dispersing onto the manor grounds as they pass its borders.

 

The manor's halls are filled with light, reflecting off Harry's cases as Anne retrieves them.

 

The wizard awaiting them is an absolute mountain of a man, looking very much like he had just stepped out of an antique Victorian portrait. The man's hair is dark, but gracefully reaching grey, and his bright eyes are grandfatherly like the dog that led their carriage.

 

"Welcome, Lord Potter, to Joestar Manor."

 

A strong, scarred hand beckons towards Harry.

 

"Lord Jonathan Joestar, at your service."

 

* * *

 


	16. Chasing Puppy Paws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old dog finds its way to the den of thorns.

* * *

 

Padfoot sniffs at the air. That can't be right. The pup was leaving the castle. Why was he leaving the castle?

 

And so late.

 

With the strange white cloaked man, the new professor.

 

_It's not safe, it's not safe-_

 

The black carriage disappears into the night with thundering sparks, not leaving a single wheel track to follow. Even the scent seems completely destroyed, only a trace of smoke and petrichor clogging his snout. A small whine escapes his throat.

 

No. There's still a way. He remembers now. A promise, a vow, a bind. From one brother in blood to another, to keep each other's children safe.

 

Not any force on this earth could hide his godson from him.

 

Magic flares to life inside him, and he ran, ran, ran.

 

.....

 

He catches the tail end of the carriage, leaping at the rear outer seat as the thorny gates close shut. It stops very briefly to unload its rightful passengers before heading off to a stable. The flat footsteps of a house elf- no, a brownie- give him the warning to try and hide among the expanse of coarse coir lining the cobblestone walled stables.

 

Whatever feed is being put in the horses' tray smells warm and fresh. Padfoot wags his tail a little despairingly. It had been so long since he'd eaten hot food- the horses wouldn't mind, surely. His black coat and long nose would fit right in with theirs.

 

He picks himself up to see the inside, greeted with slabs of rich, slow-cooked chevon. To the side, one horse is lapping at a water tray filled with blood. Long fangs and wolfishly wide mouths eye him appraisingly as they tear flesh, snap bone.

 

Padfoot quickly makes off with a thigh, crouching low with his tail between his legs.

 

.....

 

"Mr. Zeppeli, sir?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Never mind." The young boy quickly looks away. "No. It's stupid, probably."

 

Joseph simply laughs beside him. "You're still young, kid. Even if you weren't, everybody's allowed to be stupid sometimes."

 

"Well... I think one of your dogs is following me."

 

The polite smile drops from Caesar's face. "Which one."

 

"Kind of bony and wooly... a bit smaller than the other ones, it looked."

 

"Hmm." Joseph squints in thought, scratching at his beard. "That doesn't sound like one of ours, actually. Stray, probably."

 

"Still, thank you for bringing it to our attention." Caesar claps at Harry's shoulder reassuringly. "We'll have Jotaro find it. He's good at dealing with animals."

 

.....

 

Three days later, when Padfoot finally reaches an uneasy truce with the horses, one of the  _actual_ guard dogs walks into the stable. Coal black, man sized, strong jawed. A broad silver torc collar glints in the light. Triangular ears, small and rounded, pitch forward, already detecting the foreign presence.

 

Its frigid, glacial stare bores into him from under its heavy brows, blue tongue puffing with the steam as it threatens to sound an alarm. Not a twitch escapes its corkscrewed tail, but its loosely curling ruff shakes with barely raised hackles.

 

Padfoot slinks shamefully out into the open, and the guard mercifully relaxes, still standing tall. It turns to leave, stare still boring into his gray eyes, puffing loudly when he doesn't move.

 

 _Follow, or else_.

 

It ambles leisurely to accommodate his weak pace, herding him towards the manor proper. Among the flowering vines, the guard snuffs away some leaves, pushing him into the passage below.

 

The entrance seals behind him. The sound of Padfoot's dull claws skitter along the floors, the walls, tail wagging with nervous energy.

 

The room is small, windowless, with a few cushions around a low table. It looks cozy, comfortable.

 

It looks like a prison.

 

Violet thorns flood from the cracks of the wall, closing in.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all remember the vampire horses cuz i do


	17. Parodies of Casual Conversation -or- Discussions of A Bumblebee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware the rain, beware the snow, beware the man you think you know.

* * *

 

Harry, to his own astonishment, often found himself in the manor library. Perhaps the lack of threatening magical crones had encouraged it. Or perhaps, instead, it was the perpetual air of safety and stability that allowed Harry to remember that he truly had  _loved_  learning, once, before the constant pendulum of deadly legacy began to swing over his head. Many of the books were of the usual Hogwarts fare, though more specific and well kept. There were also a great deal of non-human authors, and the magical history section had even included old news clippings. Mingled right among all the wizards books were muggle science and history texts. The smile came unbidden to his face, knowing that Hermione would likely kill to step in such a library.

 

Professor Kujo was there less frequently than expected, and always accompanied by his American daughter Jolyne. By the odd brand of wandless magic he began to accept as an inherent Joestar trait, she would hoist herself up as needed to grab whatever she felt like, and the two would crowd in a plush chair, the professor's measured words would float about the bookshelves.

 

The question of what exactly the professor had done during the Dementor attack stayed unanswered. Perhaps Harry should try to bring it up- the professor tended to not voice things he thought were obvious (and they very often weren't), until someone else went out of their way to ask after it.

 

But with every easy silence, every serious face that entertained Jolyne's not-quite coherent speech, every close and quiet conversation with the strange wizard who had kissed him in front of the Hogwarts gates, the post-Dementor weariness of Professor Kujo's character lifted a little more, and once he had even smiled.

 

And with every happily answered question, every casually friendly touch, every kindly face that had allowed him to help with meals and even  _thanked_  him for it, something in Harry lifted as well, and he found him self less and less willing to break whatever good spell had fallen over him.

 

He almost never wanted to leave.

 

.....

 

It was tea in the afternoon with the heads of the Clan Joestar and House Potter.

 

Jonathan was paradoxically both composed and unrefined, a perfectly courteous gentleman who was always two steps from dropping whatever was in his hands from either mirth or shock. Erina would effortlessly derail the impending disaster, and continue the conversation without so much as a pause. There was a kind, worldly energy in them that left Harry suddenly aching for grandparents he never had.

 

Right now was one such time, a sugar dusted cake slice nearly half thrown across the garden, barely caught with the deft flick of a wand. Shock it is then.

 

"Muggles?" the old wizard parroted weakly. "Lily's muggles?" Harry nodded a little bitterly, not liking the current of disbelief in that tone. That's how it usually went when he tried to say anything uncomfortable- disbelief, and over-rationalized excuses. Any second now, Jonathan would probably defend-

 

"What on Earth was Albus thinking?"

 

...what?

 

"He would have _known_." Lady Joestar's sweet face is steely, sharp with an indignant anger not unlike Mrs. Weasley's when she had caught a misbehaving child. "The Potters always told him everything, he  _had_ to have known. Lily's muggles  _hated_ her, no matter how hard she tried. How many times did she cry over that awful girl?"

 

As for Jonathan, his face had finally stopped wavering, settling into a sympathetic discomfort.

 

"My boy, we're so terribly sorry. That can't be good for you, living with them."

 

"Dumbledore said I _had_ to." Harry mumbled. "That my mum's blood would protect me, or something."

 

"Tsk." Erina practically scoffed at that. "No more than a loving wizard's house could have done. And a wizard's house would have actually been able to put up a fight if someone came for you."

 

This. This is... far,  _far_ different of an answer than Harry had imagined.

 

He should be happy.

 

But he's not.

 

Dumbledore was the one wizard- the one  _person_ who had looked out for him.

 

He can't have done something like this.

 

He wouldn't.

 

He had to have a reason.

 

Right?

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Open to grammar nazis, incoherent screaming, and constructive criticism. Possibly prompts, provided they take place within the time frame.
> 
> Join the Discord server for draft bits, behind the scenes nonsense, yearning questions of my questionable literary choices, and future stories.
> 
> https://discord.gg/xdhnqKj
> 
> (are you happy now Clark)


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